Apollo Justice, the Story
by EvilWaffleS
Summary: "This was a story about me, who I am, where I came from and my past. And I was feeling pretty damn good about telling the world." - The story of Apollo, told in his words, as if he was being interviewed by me. Let me know what you think! It's not my normal style! Plan on doing one for every PW character if I can (even minors) should this hit off.
1. Prologue

A/N: Alongside ongoing projects, and a request I owe someone, I mentioned this idea to my boyfriend the other day, and figured I'd do a pilot run, and see how it goes. If it goes well, I plan to write one for every character in the series.

**Note! This story is written entirely in Apollo's point of view but written as if I was the one writing for him, so the girl he mentions at the start is actually me (as described by a friend).**

* * *

**Prologue**

I wasn't sure what to make of the girl sat before me; she was bashful and nervous as she took the mug from in front of me, taking a tentative sip. She was British, around nineteen years of age, but still with a child's face, making her look around Trucy's age. She partook in the British tradition of drinking tea, which I had never actually brewed before, but she smiles as she places the cup back down on the desk.

She is a university student, she told me in an intitial meeting, an accidental run-in in a coffee bar, where her boyfriend accidentally walked into me carrying a tray, and poured hot chocolate down my suit. He was much different to her. She is small in stature, approximately around five feet in height, and quite plump, but striking in her own way. I notice she gets a lot of looks in the coffee store, if not because her child's face made her boyfriend look like a paedophile but because she was rather, well endowed. She caught me staring, and thus, since it was one of the things I remembered from our initial meeting, she asked to write it into the book. Her boyfriend however, was a tall man, the same age as her, but looking closer to my own age, he was around Klavier's height, easily taller than myself, and adorned jeans and a yellow tshirt, apparently loving the sunshine of where I live compared to home.

We were talking for a while, she offered to pay the bill for her boyfriend's rather clumsy mistake and I had waved her off, but accepted their offer of the free drink. It was then I noticed a familiar name that popped up in a few emails. This girl went by the nickname of 'EvilWaffleS' and she had explained to me that on the internet, it was a good place, because you could hide behind a funny name, and be what you want to be, instead of what you're expected to be. It was then she proposed the idea of writing for me, producing a story by _me _about me, for the rest of the world to appreciate just who Apollo Justice was and where he came from.

That is how she came to be sat behind my desk. It was slow, I had few clients at the moment, it was relaxing to sit with this girl, who had proved she was talented and skilled in not just writing, but in science as well. She had already explained that she was a science student, but had a flare for writing, and was happy to use her time here in the US to write the story of an idol like myself.

-x-x-

She begins with a few basic questions, how old am I? Twenty-two, I answer, and confirms that birthday was in 2004, which I added the full dates to, my birthday is May 12th, 2004. She then asks me a few basic questions about who I am.  
"Apollo Justice" I answer. "Criminal justice lawyer, working on behalf of the Wright Anything Agency." She nods approvingly as she continues to type on her laptop, occasionally glancing up, to meet my eyes staring in disbelief at how fast she could type.

This was a story about me, who I am, where I came from and my past. And I was feeling pretty damn good about telling the world.


	2. Chapter 1: Birth and Early Years

**Chapter 1: Birth and the Early Years**

I was born in the year 2004, to parents whose names disappeared along with my birth certificate when they died (as far as I know) several years later. So, because I needed something to reference them by, I shall refer to them here on out as 'Mother' and 'Father' because that's what they were. I only wish I could be more specific.

I have a single photograph of me as a baby, but not as a newborn, which has always bothered me. I'd always wanted one, a kind of reminder to see how much I've grown and changed from my humble beginnings, but I digress.

I'm fairly certain I wasn't born in this state, I say 'fairly certain' because nobody really remembers their very early childhood, and with no birth certificate to prove otherwise, I only have the subconscious memories of chilling winters and fairly humid summers I'd endure to go by.

I also remember the smell of cotton candy, and of hay, of animals. It's one of the earliest scents I think my body can register. Mother and Father must have worked in a similar job, because I seem to remember travelling a lot. I remember voices, my parent's voices, bickering over whether all the travel was good for a small baby such as me. My father would simply laugh off the suggestion, as he always did, and my mother would huff and take me from my small wicker basket and wonder off. I often remembered people cooing over me, saying that "all that rocking must put baby right to sleep." – so I guess I travelled around in something that rocked a lot, like a boat, or a train. Most likely a train, I get frightfully seasick, even as an adult.

I remember my mother had a lovely singing voice, calm and soothing, and a smell of a scent I could never quite match to anything else in the world, like a perfume designed only for her. I remember the first few months of my life being easy, I know from medical records I was not an unhealthy child, I was rather small, and quite well rounded, but I had a healthy appetite and was well tuned into the noisy world around me.

I also remembered Mittens, I'm not sure what kind of cat Mittens was, but I know he was about the size of me, and eventually outgrew me fairly quickly as a very small child, which suggested to me he was no ordinary household tabby cat.

In this time however, there were more important things going on than checking to see whether Mittens was a cat or a lion, or your neighbours dog was actually a wolf. But I don't think Mittens was a lion, or a tiger, he was big, but not that big. And I think he was legal, as in, you didn't need a license to have one. I think he was a Bengal Cat. What difference did it make, he was still my best friend.

With all the smells I can remember, although admittedly only through therapy when I was younger, I came to the conclusion I was with a travelling circus or something of that sort. I checked some law books and it is entirely possible, after all, circuses were still immensely popular back in the early-mid 2000s and it is hardly a well-kept secret that even in this day and age, circuses are poorly monitored and all laws relating to animal welfare are enforced either incorrectly, or not at all. It saddens me now I am an adult that I was ever a part of such a thing, but I have to remember, that was my childhood home, well, my home for a short while at least.

-x-x-

I was only six months old when I noticed 'father' was no longer around. I no longer received a kiss on the cheek everyday before he disappeared and I heard cheering from inside a building. But I do remember one day, a particularly poignant day in my memory, because it was the first time I ever heard a loud man-made noise. _Gunshots._

As a baby, I'd already grown used to the standard hustle and bustle of life, the same way animals do. But this was something new entirely. I remember howling, bawling from my crib, because of the whistle that shot just above my wicker basket. I was a little strange growing up, I normally ignored loud noise, and this was the reason why, or so the therapist thought anyways.

Not long after, I seem to recall something different in my mother's voice. She no longer sang "You are my sunshine" most likely a reference to my ridiculous name being of the Roman god of the sun and of truth, in the same way. Her voice was distant, her words more drawn out. Her long brown hair looked discoloured and limp, her eyes, an identical carbon copy of my own, looked cloudy and dull.

That's all I remember of them both.

My next memories were of the two people, neither my mother or my father, carrying my wicker basket through the snow, to the orphanage where I grew. They handed me to a woman, whose voice was like soft silk, and I never saw any of them again.

* * *

I noticed that the girl writing my tale seems shocked that is all I could tell her of the first year of my life. But she nods anyway, and I find it strangely calming. She takes another sip of her now cold tea, and adds "I'm sure you'll make up for it in parts you remember more fondly. After all, you are a world famous lawyer now." She smiles at me, and finishes her typing.

She tells me she will be in the country for the summer, and if possible, I was to make as much time free for her to continue documenting my life in that time. I nodded my agreement, reassured her I could make up for the short intro to my life, by recalling my many memories of the orphanage, of foster homes and eventually adoption.

She packs her bag, thanks me for the tea, then leaves. Leaving me a promise she would return tomorrow to show me the notes she had written.

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A/N: So yeah, let me know what you think. I try to use accurate dates and events (and things that happened in the real world around that time) to help spur my story.


End file.
